


show me how ruin makes a home out of hip bones (shattered & rebuilt)

by possibilist



Series: hard rain [3]
Category: The Bold Type
Genre: F/F, also kat has a panic attack, it shouldnt be triggering ? idk but just so u know, jacqueline the true mvp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilist/pseuds/possibilist
Summary: ok this is part iii of when kat gets hurt (but now she good except for yknow a few blips) from kat's pov:'you know, so so logically, that this is all that it is: a loud text, that you’re at work and you’re safe and nothing is going to happen; but you had thought that when you were going to get on the subway that day and you had woken up in the hospital with a broken leg and a bleeding brain and without a third of your liver and you could’ve died and suddenly everything is going too fast.you try to calm down but you don’t feel calm, not at all, so you get up and try to walk as normally as possible to find sutton, who is in the middle of something on her laptop in the fashion office but when she sees whatever the fuck facial expression you’re making right now she gets up and takes your arm and leads you to the fashion closet.it’s getting hard to breathe and it feels a little like you’re legitimately about to have a heart attack, and when you get inside you hug sutton as tight as you can, because she’s real and here and safe.'





	show me how ruin makes a home out of hip bones (shattered & rebuilt)

**Author's Note:**

> not to make light of anyone having a panic attack after they were at a subway station when a bomb went off but theres a joke abt a strap on that goes on for A While in this fic so yknow. it gets cute. generally also kat is funny & smart & a hot ass mess in this so its not weirdly ooc or anything.
> 
> als o sex at the end

fucking mitzi is walking by and your day had been  _just. fine_ —you had given your girlfriend three orgasms before you came to work, definitely had just as many; your leg wasn’t hurting and you and sutton had had plenty of time to actually drink a coffee in the lobby cafe because both of your earliest meetings got pushed back—but then mitzi is walking past your desk and the sound on her phone is on full volume and she gets a text with the fireworks effect.

you know, so so logically, that this is all that it is: a text, that you’re at work and you’re safe and nothing is going to happen; but you had thought that when you were going to get on the subway that day and you had woken up in the hospital with a broken leg and a bleeding brain and without a third of your liver and you could’ve died and suddenly everything is going too fast.

you try to calm down but you don’t  _feel_  calm, not at all, so you get up and try to walk as normally as possible to find sutton, who is in the middle of something on her laptop in the fashion office but when she sees whatever the fuck facial expression you’re making right now she gets up and takes your arm and leads you to the fashion closet.

it’s getting hard to breathe and it feels a little like you’re legitimately about to have a heart attack, and when you get inside you hug sutton as tight as you can, because she’s real and here and safe.

‘kat,’ sutton says gently and it makes you start to cry because you are  _so scared_. ‘what’s going on?’

you can’t say anything so you just duck your head into her shoulder. you definitely are hyperventilating and you guess sutton can tell because she leads you to the lounge in the middle of the room and sits you both down, presses a little on your shoulders so you lean your head toward your knees, which helps a bit but you still can’t figure out what’s really happening; your hands are numb and you can’t hear anything but explosions.

sutton tells you to breathe and tries to get you to breathe with her and you want to, you really do, because this is literally the worst feeling in the whole fucking world and you’ve read about ptsd and flashbacks because adena leaves informational tabs open about it all the fucking time on your computer—which, like, is a little passive aggressive but mostly sweet because she never, ever pushes you to do anything or try anything that freaks you out. 

you can’t breathe, even though you know your brain is just in overdrive and things are going wrong with it and you know you’re safe—but your head is between your knees and you’re hearing bombs and you cannot breathe.

you don’t know how to tell sutton that there are flashes, slivers, sometimes, of the way the station had smelled, sulfur and burnt metal and blood; the way you had been so dazed and you knew you needed to move but your body was so sluggish, the bone sticking out of your leg; you don’t know how to tell her that the machine took so long to renew your monthly unlimited pass that you had been frustrated, had just barely walked through the gate when the first bomb had gone off, which had saved your life. you do not, at all, know how to tell her about the tiny rememberings of the blood in your mouth, thick and copper, hard to breathe around, or the arm a few feet away from you, missing a body. you do not know how to tell her, or anyone, that you don’t remember at all but maybe you do.

sutton is talking to you and then after a few minutes you very faintly recognize jacqueline telling you to open your eyes, take your hands off your ears. you feel pressure on your upper arms and you want to flinch away but it’s also comforting, whoever is holding you, and you’ll have time to be  _mortified_  later but your boss is telling you to look at her and for some reason you do.

she smiles, a real, genuine smile, and then tells you that you’re doing great, which is obviously not true but you roll with it anyway; you don’t have the coherency or energy to really argue.

‘describe five shoes on that wall for me, kat,’ jacqueline tells you.

you fight to look over, your heart racing, but there’s the shoe wall, and it takes all you have to start whispering about the new louboutins you got in two days ago but you do, and you move onto the tory birch boots—they’re ugly, whatever—and then the gucci heels you think are honestly a little overdone, the jimmy choos jane’s obsessed with, the louis vuitton loafers you’ve been eyeing since they came out a few weeks ago.

jacqueline squeezes your hands—at some point, she’d held onto them—and everything is roaring in your ears still but she’s kneeling in front of you and sutton is behind her, concerned and overwhelmed. you’re about to start panicking again, because this is your boss and your best friend and this is literally so terrible, but then jacqueline tells you to describe the coats on the nearby rack; you do, go through them one by one with your best critiques and praises. when you’re done with those you move onto the accessories you can see, and your heart rate is slowing and everything is quieter and when you’re done describing the bracelets jacqueline nods.

‘kat,’ she says. ‘you’re in the fashion closet, you’re safe, you had a flashback, i think, but you’re absolutely safe.’

you cling to the words, even though you’re starting to feel embarrassed and honestly a little nauseous, but you nod.

‘yeah,’ you get out, feeling the velvet of the lounge beneath you, registering sutton’s very worried face. ‘wow, that was terrible.’

it makes your best friend laugh and jacqueline smiles and moves aside for sutton to sit next to you, wrap you up in a hug. 

‘panic attacks take a lot out of you,’ jacqueline says. ‘you should go home for the day, regroup. i’ll see you tomorrow.’

she isn’t pitying, when she says it, but you do feel absolutely exhausted and she knew exactly how to talk you down from that so you know she understands. 

‘thank you,’ you tell her, as sincere as you can be with your head still foggy a little, tiredness creeping into your bones.

jacqueline nods seriously, like she knows the weight you feel right now; in a different way, you’re sure she does.

she leaves you and sutton alone and sutton lets you just breathe against her chest for a minute before she straightens up.

‘well, that was terrifying.’

you snort a laugh with all the energy you have left. ‘shut up.’

sutton shrugs. ‘it was.’

‘just didn’t want anyone to forget i am more indestructible than them, i guess.’

she hums, stays quiet. you know she wants to ask you a million questions but she’s your best friend so she knows not to, not right now.

she glances at her watch after a few minutes. ‘kat, you’re literally the love of my life, and you know that, but i have a huge fitting in an hour that i really can’t miss.’

‘oh,’ you say, because you have a huge focus group after lunch that you had forgotten about entirely—but you’re at  _work,_  jesus—and nod. ‘yeah, i have a thing this afternoon too.’

sutton looks at you like you’ve officially gone crazy—you had, just a little, but her glare is entirely unrelated—and shakes her head. ‘alex is going to take you back to your apartment, jacqueline already got you guys a car. jane is going to meet you there until adena is back from her shoot.’

you’ve had so many people take care of you for the past three months that you kind of hate it, and maybe any other day you would resent how quickly they were able to put that together—but your left shoulder still aches and the screws in your hip are hurting and your heart is still going really fast.

‘okay,’ you say, and sutton kisses the side of your head, gets to her feet and then helps you up. she waits for you to steady yourself without saying anything, stands patiently. 

‘you’re going to be fine,’ she says, definitely a promise, and you take a deep breath, the first in what feels like forever. ‘that probably was bound to happen sometime.’

you let out another laugh. ‘stop making this funny,’ you whine.

she grins at you, laces your fingers, leads you outside where to your absolute relief no one is really paying attention to you at all.

angie walks up to you and rattles off a bunch of her plans to pick up your schedule for the rest of the day and you fully trust her so you nod and then she rolls her eyes and gives you a hug and, like, you’re definitely her boss but she’s dope as shit and covered for you the ten days you were out of work, has picked up any slack you need her to.

‘i owe you, like, seven drinks at the next happy hour,’ you tell her.

she laughs and shakes her head. ‘nah,’ she says, ‘you just owe me a nap one of these days.’

‘done.’

‘and i really fucking love those new order doc martins.’

‘also done,’ you promise, and she grins.

‘i’ll email you the numbers before your meeting tomorrow,’ she says. ‘feel better, boss.’

you roll your eyes but you give her another quick hug and alex wanders over, offers his arm. you take it and he chatters on about his newest pitch and asks your opinion and you get fairly involved and distracted enough that the ride to your apartment seems short, easy.

it’s a little like they’re handing you off at this point but jane is waiting on the front steps of your building and alex hugs you and you thank him and then jane is wrapping you up in the tightest embrace and you fucking love her, because she’s reaching up over your shoulders and she’s tiny but truly so strong.

‘i heard,’ she says, backs up and takes the keys from your hand, opens the front door and ushers for you to go in front of her to your elevator, ‘that you did not have the best morning.’

‘i did not,’ you grant her. ‘you’re right.’

she shrugs. ‘happens to the best of us.’

you shrug, get on the elevator and lean into her a bit.

‘i can stress clean while you nap, if that makes you feel better.’

you laugh. ‘you would.’

‘sutton texted me the entire time. figured you were tired.’

you nod because your eyelids are truly so heavy and you didn’t think passionate, frantic crying for fifteen minutes would really knock you out this much but oh well, here you are.

‘panic attacks,’ jane says, opening your front door after you walk down the hall, ‘can use up as much energy as when people run marathons, did you know that?’

you shake your head because you feel a little unsteady still, like it’s hard to talk and interact and you feel really, really drained and jane doesn’t push you at all, just helps you change into pajamas and when you lay down on your couch she goes to your kitchen.

‘so i was reading online that herbal tea helps after panic attacks, so do you and adena have any—’ she pauses— ‘whoa.’

you lift your head and go from confused to mortified to absolutely delighted at jane’s face, because she’s staring at a dildo on your kitchen table.

‘i guess i forgot to put that away,’ you say.

jane lets out a strangled laugh. ‘well i’m not touching it.’

you roll over and smoosh your face into the cushions. ‘oh, come on tiny jane, i washed it this morning.’

‘ _after_  it was in your vagina,’ she says, walking over to the couch and setting down two glasses of water, the tea kettle starting to warm up on the stove.

‘hey,’ you say, turning back to her, ‘why do you assume adena was wearing it?’

jane seems to try to formulate a sentence but just ends up turning red. ‘we are going to discuss this further at a more appropriate time with sutton.’

you wearily pat her knee but you’re smiling a little and when you make room for her to fit in between you and the cushions she grins and climbs over you, squirms around a little until you’re both comfortable.

‘i like your braids,’ she says, and you don’t have the heart to tell her that it’s been three months but your shoulders still ache sometimes and you love your mom and adena but no one washes your hair right.

but you’re warm and so, so exhausted, so you say, ‘thanks, tiny jane,’ instead, and you feel her smile into your shoulder before you fall asleep.

//

adena and sutton get to your apartment at the same time, which you know because jane wakes you up just before they get in the door and you’re groggy but then sutton goes to get water—the humidity is like 127% outside, holy shit—and then lets out a big, loud laugh. adena was walking to you but then she turns around and the fucking dildo is still on the table because jane apparently had _not_  put it away and you’d been asleep, so.

adena blushes and picks it up quickly and walks to your nightstand while jane climbs out from the couch behind you. 

‘ _incredible_ , kat,’ sutton says, sitting down and propping your feet up on her lap. ‘i haven’t had sex in, like, two months so i am sure glad to see at least some of us are having fun.’

you groan and adena closes your nightstand drawer louder than necessary, which makes you laugh because she turns around with flushed cheeks and when you kiss her hello—an odd angle, and not at all sexy, because you have no real desire to sit up but you do want to kiss her—sutton whistles and jane cheers.

‘oh my god,’ you grumble, and adena laughs into your mouth before kissing you softly one more time.

‘hey,’ jane says, ‘seriously, we can head out.’

adena looks at you, and whatever sleepy expression you’re making, and then shakes her head. ‘no, that’s okay. i was going to make dinner for kat and i tonight anyway and there’s more than enough for you two as well.’

‘oh,’ sutton says, ‘you sure?’

‘yeah,’ you say, hoping adena can tell how grateful you are; if her soft smile is anything to go by, you think she knows. ‘adena’s the best cook.’

‘we’re not going to talk about it now,’ sutton says, squeezes your calf once, and your heart drops a little, because she seems serious, but then: ‘but i need details at what else adena is the best at.’

jane snorts and you roll your eyes and curl back up into the couch. sutton rubs your back and someone puts on sza and jane and sutton and adena all chat; you drift in and out while the smell of tahdig—your favorite, you’ve discovered—fills your apartment. you feel like you have an emotional hangover and it’s hard to process everything and you have no idea how to tell these people that you love, who are bright and happy and make you, mostly, bright and happy too, all that you saw, and remember, and still feel.

they all cram onto your couch and eat with you, though, and they don’t push.

sutton moans when she tries the food and jane says, ‘holy shit, no wonder kat said you’re the best.’

adena kisses your cheek and feeds you a bite from her own fork, just to make you smile. 

//

you sleep  _hard_ , and you think you have nightmares, maybe, but you’re so tired you cycle right through them. adena holds you all night, though, in her soft cotton underwear and an old t-shirt of yours from undergrad, forehead pressed between your shoulders when you tense; you haven’t slept well but you don’t think she has either, and you feel like you were before: clever and confident and funny, but you also know you are  _not_ who you were before, and some of that is wearing all of you thin.

you sigh when your alarm goes off and don’t bother hitting snooze, instead getting out of bed and going through your morning routine with as much mindfulness as you can conjure up. you know from your parents fretting that it’s the biggest key to staying fully present and  _not_ having panic attacks, and they’re annoying as shit but they really do mean well, and they are very good at their jobs, so you really do try.

you wake your girlfriend up briefly to say goodbye before you head in and she kisses you, almost entirely asleep still. she’s already been up once to pray and you don’t want to wake her again.

‘a _sheghetam_ ,’ she mumbles, and you know well enough by now exactly what that means.

//

sutton meets you in the lobby with a coffee and you hand her a smoothie which makes her smile.

‘how are we doing today?’ she asks.

‘barring any errant text notifications,’ you say, ‘i think i’m fine.’

‘amazing,’ she says, ‘because, wow, okay,  _my_ night—’

you turn toward her and smile and you can pay attention fully, and the air conditioning feels incredible after the heat, and she added the perfect amount of sugar to your coffee.

‘yas henny,’ you say. ‘tell me all about it.’

//

you go over all of angie’s numbers and the plan for the day, crunch your own analytics just to make sure your intern didn’t fuck it up, and do your best to avoid jacqueline for as much of the morning as possible. it works well for maybe an hour before she opens to door to her office and calls you in, gestures for you to sit on her couch, where she does as well.

you  _launch_ , almost desperately, into a layout of your coming week, your presentation on tuesday to the board about a trans activist you want to do a livestream during his testosterone shot, the increasing engagement on your articles dealing with contemporary voter suppression, and, to her credit, jacqueline does let you tell her everything.

you finish with a big breath and jacqueline pauses before nodding. ‘that all sounds great, kat.’

‘cool,’ you say, making a note on your ipad. ‘is that all?’

she doesn’t even say anything, just sits back and shakes her head once. 

you sigh.

‘how are you?’

‘adena made me tahdig last night,’ is what comes out of your mouth, like that will somehow explain things.

jacqueline smiles, though. ‘that sounds wonderful,’ she says, and then waits again.

you lean back into the couch and roll your eyes at yourself, because unlike your friends and your girlfriend and even your parents, this is your boss and honestly you don’t have a real way to get out of this conversation.

‘i’m sorry, about yesterday,’ you start, staring at your hands.

‘no,’ jacqueline says immediately. ‘you have absolutely nothing to apologize for, kat.’

you fight back sudden tears. ‘i’m embarrassed,’ you tell her, quietly and truthfully, and she nods. ‘i’m scared all the time, and i’m so tired, and i’m really happy, with everything—my job, my friends, my girlfriend, but i’m just—’ you shrug.

jacqueline nods. ‘it’s going to take time.’

you swallow. ‘yeah.’

jacqueline leans forward, hands you a business card. ‘also,’ she says, ‘it’s going to take you talking to someone honestly.’

‘i do that,’ you try to say, when you read the title  _therapist_  under the name on the card, but jacqueline only raises a brow, and you sigh.

‘all of what you’re feeling can be hard to put on your friends, or a partner,’ she says, gestures to the card. ‘this therapist is a queer woman of color, specializes in trauma therapy, takes absolutely no shit. i trust you will get along fully.’ 

you want to be stubborn and you will probably hate it, but you know jacqueline is right.

‘also accepts our insurance,’ she says, and you grant her a laugh.

‘so that’s the first thing you’re going to do,’ jacqueline says. 

‘okay,’ you tell her, sure.

‘secondly, and there’s no timeline on this at all, kat, but i want you to think about writing about your experience.’

you feel your jaw clench and you stare down at the card because talking about how you feel overwhelmed sometimes to a random stranger in a nice office on the upper west side is  _nothing_  compared to six million of  _your_  readers knowing about it.

jacqueline puts her hand on yours, which are in fists. ‘a journal for now, maybe. anything. no timeline.’

you take a deep breath, and you want to argue but you think she’s right about this too.

‘you know,’ she says, leaning back and finally you can meet her eyes, ‘there’s a quote, from anne carson, i think— _you remember too much, my mother said to me recently. why hold onto all that? and i said—”_

 _“where can i put it all down?_ ,’ you finish. jacqueline looks momentarily surprised. ‘glass, irony, and god. jane loves anne carson.’

‘of course she does,’ jacqueline says fondly. ‘but kat—you need to put it down. find somewhere safe to do that, even just for a few minutes. it will help, i promise.’

‘yeah,’ you say, wipe an errant tear that you fucking  _hate_  but oh well, it’s out anyway. jacqueline looks momentarily skeptical so you roll your eyes. ‘yeah, yeah,’ you reassure, ‘you’re right.’

‘as always.’ she stands, satisfied, so you take that as your cue as well. you’d worn heels today and it’s not the most comfortable thing but you’re officially done with physical therapy and it feels a little bit like a power move, which sutton had told you to lean into and jane had slapped your ass when you’d tried on these pants a few days before—and you’re distracted enough by that for a moment that you don’t feel so heavy; it’s not long but maybe this is what jacqueline means.

‘thank you,’ you tell her seriously.

‘of course,’ she says, settling back behind her desk, so you start to walk out. ‘oh, and kat?’

you pause at the door, turn back toward her. 

‘the next time adena makes food, bring some in. i haven’t had good tahdig in years.’

‘i will,’ you say. when you walk back to your desk you check your notifications: a panicked snapchat from jane about how to get maple syrup out of silk (you have no idea); a selfie of sutton pouting because she’d had to leave the office and it’s so hot outside all of your makeup is melting off; a sleepy morning nude from adena so—that’s great.

you respond to each of them and laugh and your day goes off without a hitch. 

//

when you get home that night, carrying some leftover fancy ass quinoa bowls from your focus group for dinner, adena texts you that she’s on her way, so you grin and take off your outfit, put on fancy lingerie and the heels you’d had on earlier, put your braids up, lounge on your bed.

adena says a bright hello when she walks in and then drops her purse to the ground when she sees you, flustered and hurrying to pick it up again, and you laugh and walk over to her.

‘hi,’ you say, kiss her hello.

‘hello,’ she says, pushes back on your shoulders. you whine but you stop and step back and you can feel yourself get wet with the way she looks over your body. ‘you are feeling better today, then?’

‘i really do not want to talk about it,’ you tell her, and she starts to say something but you shake your head. ‘i scheduled an appointment with a therapist jacqueline recommended and. yeah. i don’t want to talk about it.’

adena’s smile is dazzling and relieved and you’re so fucking lucky. ‘we do not have to talk about it, then.’

she steps toward you and you smile into her kiss this time. ‘you have too many clothes on,’ you say.

‘you can do something about that.’

‘is that right?’

she kisses down your neck and you’re starting to regret this lingerie power move because now she can touch you everywhere and you’re left with a duster and a tank underneath, tucked into her pants.

‘i brought you dinner,’ you say, even as she lowers you down onto the edge of the bed, tugs you forward so that you’re sitting up, settles in between your legs.

‘i thought you did not want to talk?’ she takes off her hijab and then steps back, and you watch your girlfriend strip and holy  _shit,_ okay.

‘i don’t,’ you agree, and you’d agree to mostly anything right now, because she’s naked before you and she spreads your legs and then kneels at your feet. 

she kisses from your knee, up the inside of your thigh, eventually takes your underwear off and you’re already shaking, ready to beg. she doesn’t make you wait and the first flick of her tongue over your clit almost has you coming already; you fist your hands in her hair and watch her and like.  _wow_.

//

you eat pizza from the corner in bed instead of your salad, and adena curls up next to you, bare and sated. you don’t say anything to each other, just rest in the quiet; she traces over your features with her fingers softly and you know she photographs you all the time, never does anything with the ones she wants without your explicit consent, but sometimes you think she understands you better than you ever have yourself.

‘i’m gonna be just fine,’ you tell her, promise it, will it, but it’s not desperate, not anymore.

‘yes,’ she agrees easily, ‘you will.’

when you kiss her she tastes like pepperoni grease, and, yeah, you will.

**Author's Note:**

> ur welcome for the sex i added so u wouldnt all be mad at me, theres more sex @possibilistfanfiction if u want to enjoy some v high end erogenous literature


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